


The Last Piece of Us

by hopelesslydevoted



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslydevoted/pseuds/hopelesslydevoted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some years after the show ended, Chris and Darren’s relationship has withered away. Chris is left to bury some memories alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Piece of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Day Twenty-Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830565) by [dizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy). 



> Author’s Notes:  
> This story was written as prequel of sorts to dizzy’s Day Twenty-Two in the Crisscolfer Advent. While I do not posses her beautiful writing style, editing skills nor insider knowledge on her original story, I would warmly recommend you to read it after my little story. Warning for angst.

Chris leans on the cold steel of the surgical table as his fingers softly stroke the golden brown fur. The dog, the beloved companion, lays in front of him breathing heavily. Each exhale deeper than the following inhale. The life keeps slipping through his fingers, just beyond his grasp.

The decision was easy. And yet, it was not. The end did not sneak in as a surprise that left him breathless and in tears, like losing his cat only a year after the show had ended. During the past few days, the pain from the disease gradually devouring Cooper became increasingly evident, and no longer manageable. Chris knew it was time to let go.

With every gentle touch, the pain is being transferred from the dog to the owner. A bond that allows them to share everything, for one last time. And a pain that cannot be healed with tears. As Cooper is being released from his suffering, a searing ache grows in Chris’ chest. When one heart stops, the other keeps beating, alone. More alone than in years.

And soon, the struggle is over.

The room is silent.

“Did I do enough? Did I love enough?” The whisper of a ragged voice.

—

There is something bittersweet about receiving a prognosis. While it can suddenly rip out all hope, it can also reveal the reality that was hiding behind imagination. The prognosis sprung Chris into action. Arrangements were made, news were delivered to family and closest friends.

There was an influx of love and support. Yet, Chris adamantly declined all offers to share the last day. He needed to do this one last thing with Coop alone. And the only person who Chris would have not pushed away didn’t even know that the dog was dying. Perhaps, it was for the better, given the situation.

Chris’ fingers are tightly wrapped around the steering wheel of his SUV. The brightness of the summer day is grossly at odds with his internal feelings. At least, it gives him an excuse to hide his eyes behind sunglasses, not that he needs to, since he hasn’t shed a tear. He _needs_ to be strong for Cooper, and for himself.

Cooper is laid over a favorite blanket at the back seat. Chris knows the lifeless body there, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, even when he comes to a red light. It is too painful. Yet, it is enough to revive memories from their road trip years ago.

On those five summer days, Chris had himself sat at the back seat with Coop’s head on his lap while another set of hands rested on the steering wheel. Hands that belonged to _someone_ who sang along every song on the radio. Including songs he didn’t really know or remember, making up lyrics himself and laughing, laughing a lot. Someone who looked back at Chris, and Cooper, at every red light and stop sign (and at times on long, straight stretches of highways making Chris’ heart beat a bit faster with the sweet blend of love and controlled danger).

The memories come flooding to his consciousness. Cooper had been in his life for years, through everything like a true best friend. When he seeks for the good memories to sooth the sorrow within, his mind is not quite willing to stray far from the beginning of their journey together.

—

When he pulls over to the parking lot, Chris is greeted by small middle-aged woman standing at the gate. He gets out of his car and exchanges a couple of quick words with her. Then, Chris opens the back seat door, carefully wraps the cloth around the sweet little creature and lifts it onto his arms. The woman helps to close the car door as he gathers the limb body in a tighter embrace.

Chris notices the small carriage near the gate, but he wants to hold on Coop close as long as he can. Their last steps together, leading to the grave, because together, they can go no further. The warmth is fading from the body that weighs heavy on his arms. Chris’ muscles tremble with the strain, but he needs to be strong for Cooper, and for himself.

At the burial sight, an older man with silver in his hair is waiting for them. He helps Chris to lay down the wrapped body in a plain wooden casket and lower it to the bottom of the grave. Then, he is left alone as he had requested earlier.

When all hope was lost, Chris knew what kind of last rituals he wanted. Something that represented their relationship. Modest, simple, but filled with honesty and love. No guests, no music, no flowers, not even poetic words of goodbye. Chris would just shovel a thin layer of soil on the casket and walk away. It felt right, it felt like covering a child with a warm blanket before kissing him goodnight and turning off lights.

Feeling the tears, Chris closes his eyes and turns his face away from the grave. He’s not going to break now. He can’t. He reminds himself that death is not an end, or it is, but only the end of pain and suffering before the beginning of healing and renewing. Yet, this death feels unlike others that he has mourned. This feels like an end.

Chris opens his eyes and grabs the shovel that is sticking out from the pile of dirt next to the grave. His T-shirt is already clinging to his sweat-dampened back when he begins his mission under the scorching afternoon sun. With each shovel-full of soil on the casket, he relives his life with Cooper. Those small moments in time, most of them from his first years with Chris. And with almost every memory of the puppy, the memories of _the man_ came flooding into his mind.

The time when Chris had been packing for his book tour. First, Brian had quietly sneaked inside his suitcase and then, Cooper had snuggled next to the cat. Finally, _he_ had entered the room and laughed: “If they are going with you, I’m coming too! There should be still enough space for a tiny hobbit in your luggage.”

The time when jealous Cooper had ruined Chris’ photo of the cat and _him_ in matching Santa hats. The dog had enthusiastically barged on the sofa and knocking Chris off his feet as Brian scattered away. All three of had laughed, even Coop in his doggy way. The cat had remained under the bed sulking for the rest of the night.

The time when Chris had been playing at the beach with Cooper and _him_ whole day. At sundown, they had returned home with face numb from laughing and mobiles filled with pictures and videos.

And the many other preciously savored times.

—

Lost inside his thoughts, Chris returns to his car. He notices his hand visibly shaking as he lifts it to the door handle. He closes his eyes, because it is too painful. His body is tense from holding back his feelings for hours, for days, for weeks. On some level, for years. But he needs to be strong for Cooper, and for himself.

With a quivering sigh, Chris allows his body to slump against the car, he barely remains standing. There is no one to catch him, there is no one to hold him, there is no one to touch him. He buried the friend that he had curled around when he had been angry, frustrated, sad or heart broken. And there is no one else in his life with whom he shares that level of trust. At least, not any more.

For days, a thought has been lingering on the edge of Chris’ consciousness, a thought that he kept pushing away. He knows he can no longer ignore it, because it stops him from getting inside his car and continuing his life. _He_ should have been here. Darren should have been here. After all, he had been there the day Chris got Cooper.

Cooper was Chris’ dog, had always been, there was no doubt. Chris and Darren had been just friends when he got Cooper. (Or as much friends as they ever really knew how to be.) Yet, Darren had loved the fur-ball, almost more than he had loved Chris.

“Cooper and I have formed a club which _you_ are not invited to. We have one key thing in common.” Darren had said with smirk while playing with the puppy at Chris’ backyard only a couple weeks after Chris got Cooper. “We both are the biggest fans of the award-winning actor and best-selling author, Chris Colfer.”

It had made Chris smile, like seeing Darren and Cooper together many times later during that first year. There had been early mornings when Darren had willingly taken Coop for a walk, so Chris could lie in bed for a little bit longer. And late nights when Darren had sneaked a forbidden snack to the dog and barely avoided scolding from Chris because they both had turned to stare at him with cute, innocent puppy eyes. Of course, it had been only a year. Yet, there were enough of memories to make Chris think about Darren in middle of all the sorrow. Would Darren want to know about Cooper?

Without giving it a second thought, Chris takes out his mobile phone from the pocket. He scrolls down the address book until he finds what he is searching for. The number that he had not used since he had changed mobiles two year ago, but still safely there, saved between ‘Dad’ and the phone number to his favorite ethnic restaurant in LA. Upon seeing the name, Chris is, however, frozen in a struggle with himself.

“Chris, I think after the show ends, we _really_ should pack everything and run away together. Leave everything behind and go, just you and I.” Darren said outside Chris’ trailer after a long day of filming towards the end of their last season.

It was something that Chris had said to Darren years earlier, while catching his breath next to him in a narrow hotel bed in Dublin. They had talked about it. Chris hadn’t really known whether the conversation had been an attempt to lighten the awkwardness of the moment, to offer each other comfort or to truly express their hidden desires. But it had been before the events of summer 2013 that changed many things for them. When Darren brought it up again that night years later, Chris didn’t know how to respond, even with the closeness and intimacy of the last year. He offered a hesitant smile and a longing look to Darren. Then, they were interrupted and the moment fluttered away.

Chris stares at the name on the screen wanting to call him. Wanting to tell Darren that Cooper had died. Wanting to know if he feels the same way about losing Cooper like Chris feels. Suddenly, Chris understands that losing Cooper is like losing Darren, all over again.

As the new wave of emotions washes over him, Chris has to remind himself of what happened after the show had ended. Chris had ran away to Europe to film a movie, alone, without saying goodbyes. Darren had ran into the caring arms of a female friend who became his wife two years later. Then later, she became his ex-wife. And a year or two after the divorce, Darren remarried with another beauty.

Now, Chris stands alone leaning against his car on the parking lot of a pet cemetery in sunny LA, when Darren is somewhere, perhaps in New York, with his wife and child. And the things that Chris lost earlier intertwine with the things he lost now.

And then, the struggle is over.

No choices are left to be made.

Sometimes, death is not about the circle of life. It’s about losing something that you cannot get back. It reminds you in a painful way of how everything eventually comes to an end.

“Did I do enough? Did I love enough?” A single tear rolls down his cheek.

Chris gathers himself and puts the mobile back in his pocket before getting into his car. With the start of the engine, Chris knows it’s time to go. He needs to move on for Darren, and for himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Indebtedness:  
> To dizzy who writes stories that bring tears to my eyes, smile to my lips, ache in my chest and much more.  
> To Minni who was my muse and taught me more about life than some humans have just with her gracious existence.  
> To my father who once held the shovel and showed me how beautifully vulnerable men can be, even without tears.
> 
>  
> 
> [Reblog on Tumblr](http://hopelesslydevotedshipping.tumblr.com/post/123107272853/the-last-piece-of-us)


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